One Point Where Two Lines Meet
by imnotbritain
Summary: Token smiled at Tweek because that boy needed to know that there was always someone smiling for him. That boy needed everything but he refused to let Token give any of it to him.


The night was freezing; it was so freezing that Tweek's warm heart seemed to run cold. That's always how Token saw it every time Craig stood Tweek up. It seemed cruel to leave the shaking boy outside in the freezing weather, waiting on something that will never come. Maybe Craig realized that too, because he always called Token to go pick him up. And resentfully, the black boy went to him every single time. Not for Craig, heavens no, but for Tweek. For that coffee scented, vibrating, pathetic boy that wrapped himself around Craig's finger like a lost puppy. It pissed Token off more than anything – more than Cartman and his racist remarks, more than Kyle's drawn out complaints regarding a fat boy he refuses to admit he loves – more than all of that.

It took a while for Token to locate Tweek. Admittedly, for such a sore thumb, he was hard to spot in the night. But sure enough, he was waiting at the backside of the worn down City Wok. Token paused for a moment, simply staring at the jittering boy. His head was hung low, his usual tangled hair now brushed and styled to the best of his ability. Token wondered how long it took Tweek to get ready for this. It was hard to make out everything in the dark, but he could have sworn he'd seen the blonde constantly checking his phone like Craig was going to message him.

Token reached for the keys, letting the car's engine purr to a stop. His exit was swift, but there was obvious irritation in his step. A slam echoed through the quiet air, causing Tweek to glance up. Hearing the sound had brought Tweek's hopes up, but he knew what it meant when he saw Token there. With sickness in his stomach, he pushed himself to his feet, keeping his head tilted down. He didn't want Token to see the puffiness of his eyes, the fresh wounds he had picked while he was waiting.

"Tweek. Craig's sick again, you know… that damn flu's going around."

"Uh huh."

"We could go get something inside if you want. I uh, I remember when we were younger, we used to eat here all the –"

"No, that's okay."

Tweek interrupted his friend's offer in a rushed, brash manner. Token sighed, digging his heel into the white powder which covered the sidewalk. Tweek didn't want to talk – Tweek never wanted to talk – Tweek drowned every sorrow in his life in that special brew his parents poisoned him with. Without uttering another word, Token made his way back to the car, Tweek following not too far behind. Out of the many cars the Black family owned, this was Tweek's favorite. Token knew that – that's why he always drove it to pick him up. It was a nice coffee brown with a slick exterior; simplistic, as Tweek described it.

Both of them wordlessly slipped into the car, heavy tension in the air. Token's anger, Tweek's sadness, both mixing together to paint a heavy cloud of teenage angst. Tweek leaned his head on the window, avoiding the glance that the other threw at him.

"It's better this way. I don't know how well you'd do with the flu."

Honestly, Token didn't know why he went along with these stories. They were such bullshit – Craig never got sick as a kid. And now he got sick every time he made a promise to Tweek.

Silence was the only response. Starting up the vehicle, Token let his hands slide across the leather steering wheel cover. Tweek continued to stare out the window, giving the occasional involuntary grunt with his twitches. Keeping the radio off, Token's foot pressed gently on the gas, moving slowly down the ice covered road. When Token first started driving, he'd speed down the streets with the whole gang – Tweek would always puke afterwards. By now, he's adjusted to the slow pace Tweek liked. Those kinds of drives seemed to fit the melancholic mood of tonight anyways.

One of Tweek's scarred and shaking hands was resting on the center console and Token couldn't stop glancing over at it. He used to hold Nicole's hand when they'd drive – but Tweek wasn't Nicole. Tweek was a vase that had already been shattered a million times over – his pieces were only haphazardly glued together with halfhearted apologies and they were oh so easy to break again. One day he hopes to take that shaking hand in his and drive right out of this small shitty town.

Instead of taking Tweek home, Token drove to his mansion. It was hard having learned from past experiences, but he learned – he learned that Tweek was dangerous to himself on nights like these. As the addict noticed they had stopped, he perked up, looking at his friend for the first time in the entire drive.

The first thing Token noticed was his eyes. Aside from their insomnia ridden sunken in appearance, they were red, streaks of dried, salty sadness clinging to the skin over his thin cheeks underneath. His pale lips were in a thin line, the corners of his mouth pulled back with great force to keep his lips from quivering. Like splattered paint on a perfect piece of art, his face had many scabs - and few new open wounds. Yeah, Tweek wasn't going home tonight.

"Sleepover."

Token merely said the single word; Tweek shook his head.

"Yeah, sleepover."

Another shake of the head.

"Tweek, unless you're gonna walk all the way home in this weather, you're sleeping over."

Hazel eyes darted to scan the circumstances outside, then back to his dark skinned pal.

"F-Fng. F-Fine!"

A rather smug smile found its way to Token's lips and he pulled the keys from the car, quickly slipping out. Tweek was slower, checking himself in the reflection before stepping out into the cold. Token made his way to the door, Tweek following not too far behind.

It had been months since Tweek had been to Token's – perhaps even a year. There was a pile of neatly written invitations in Tweek's room to all the events the rich boy hosted – none of which Tweek actually went to. He had focused a lot of his time on Craig and since he had to be homeschooled, Clyde and Token often got the short end of the stick.

Well, it was definitely as big as he remembered.

When they were in middle school, Token and Tweek would run around playing tag until they fell over laughing. Token was pretty sure he was the only one who remembered, however. It was hard to forget anything about Tweek.

Token smiled at Tweek because that boy needed to know that there was always someone smiling for him. That boy needed everything but he refused to let Token give any of it to him.

"Come on dude. We're going to sleep."

"Ngh – Just point me to the bed you want me to use –"

"We'll sleep together."

"Gah! No way! Nobody can sleep in the same room as me! Craig says I'm way too loud, I'm always twitching and making weird sounds when he's trying to sleep!"

"I'm not Craig. If you can't sleep in my bed, neither can I. We'll stay up together if we need to."

Tweek's thin, uneven eyebrows knitted together – it just didn't make sense to him. But the idea was nice – he had always felt safe around Token. Perhaps it'd let him sleep better. He was too exhausted to argue, so he simply let Token lead him to the room.

They slept just as they were – clothed, sad, and wary. The bed felt lonely – Tweek would only sleep on the edge; as far away from Token's side as he could get.


End file.
